


a small problem

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Kid Hilda, because Sabrina done messed up, past Spellcest before Hilda got de-aged, the second tropiest trope to ever trope, this is hard to explain - just read it, y'all know me by now it's go cheese or go home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: Zelda comes home to her younger sister and finds her much younger than she's supposed to be.





	1. little problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhearts/gifts).

> for cayley - thanks for always supporting my nonsense <3

It starts with a bad sign.

Salem’s standing guard on the porch.

Zelda pauses her trek up the creaking stairs.

It’s been a long day at the Academy, she just wants coffee and the news, dinner and a bath, and to maybe bicker with Hilda about the latest theories on why the bees are dying.

And then when Hilda’s good and riled, kiss her absolutely senseless.

She doesn’t have the time for an unruly familiar blocking her path.

He sits middling the top step. Doesn’t hiss, doesn’t blink.

A sentinel on the lookout, or a brave soldier.

Like he’s on his last stand.

This does not bode well.

“Sabrina what did you do,” escapes Zelda’s lips before she’s even crossed the threshold.

She hears the teenage-pitched curse from the parlor.

Alarm grows.

Zelda flings the door open, blinks in surprise to Sabrina’s pale and smiling-too-large face immediately up in hers.

“Hi Aunt Zelda,” She blurts out in a flurry, twisting her body this way and that so Zelda can’t see whatever disaster she’s currently blocking.

“What are you hiding?” Zelda says in lieu of a greeting, trying to get past.

“Nothing.”

The lie couldn’t be more obvious if it was painted in red on her forehead.

Unbelievable.

Zelda sidesteps.

Gets past.

Goes pale.

Jaw drops.

Because Hilda is on the couch, but she is wrong.

She is young.

Too young.

Zelda catalogues the chubbing cheeks, the short limbs, the peach-tinted honey of baby curls, the doe-eyed stare squinting skeptical as pudgy little fingers clutch the ears of Vinegar Tom like a tiny vice.

Hilda looks five.

She’s swimming in the frock and cardigan her regular self had been wearing just this morning, body curled up tight around Zelda’s stoic familiar.

She looks up at her big sister, and there’s no recognition in her gaze.

“Where’s Zelda?”

Zelda whirls.

Sabrina’s hands go up.

“I can explain.”

~*~

“A time spell?!”

Zelda’s head spins.

She paces in the hall right outside the parlor.

She trusts Vinegar Tom to watch over Hilda.

She can’t process what she’s seen, any time she tries, it sends her reeling.

Best not to breakdown in front of her already frightened little sister.

Sabrina, on the other hand...

“I needed answers, Aunt Zee! My dad’s the only one who has them, and I just thought—”

“Clearly, you didn’t think! Time travel is a fool’s errand. It doesn’t work. And it’s dangerous. And look what it’s done!”

“It wasn’t actually time travel, just astral projecting to a past time, but Aunt Hilda came in and broke the circle before I could finish, and—”

Zelda holds up a hand, Sabrina falters.

A hand pinching the bridge of her nose, she inhales for a very long time.

It’s only once her lungs fill to the point of pain that she finally breathes out.

“Your soul would have been lost to the winds of time, Sabrina. Your body would have stayed a husk while you’re trapped wraithlike in some random year, and not necessarily the one you were aiming for.”

If Sabrina’s shoulders could sag anymore, they’d hit the ground.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Zee. I really am. I didn’t mean for this to happen; I just can’t stand feeling so in the dark all the time.”

Zelda takes another deep breath.

She knows the desperation that comes from feeling helpless. It eats you up and makes you cling to fantasy, anything that promises to give you answers.

This time, her voice is softer.

“How much does Hilda remember?”

“From what I can tell, nothing. She’s back to whatever age she is, and she’s only got those memories.”

“Five.”

“What?”

“She’s five.”

“How can you tell?”

Zelda can’t will herself to describe the clues.

Like how Hilda’s lost one of her teeth (she lost it in summer five chasing after Zelda and Edward in the forest—tripped over a branch and knocked the tooth loose on a moss-covered rock).

Or how she’s clutching so tightly onto Vinegar Tom’s ears because they’re just like her favorite stuffed animal (a velvet-eared rabbit named Miss Bit).

Or the bags under her eyes because Hilda hadn’t slept much when she was little (young empath and wild dreamer even back then, she’d curl up in Zelda’s bed because the nightmares felt all too real).

So much history.

She can’t even begin to explain.

“I’m her sister.”

She says instead.

It sounds so simple.

“I know her.”

~*~

When Zelda kneels down to be eye-level to the couch, Hilda stares back at her, wide-eyed but languid.

She’s still clutching Vinegar Tom’s prone form, like he’s the anchor to her reality.

“Where’s Zelda?” She asks again, wind whistling through the gap where her tooth should be on the _S_.

Despite her worry, the British lisp makes Zelda smile.

Back then, she hadn’t been old enough to appreciate how cute Hilda was as a child.

Hilda had just been her little sister. Annoying, precious— a lot to compete with.

But Zelda can appreciate the cuteness now.

She tucks a wayward curl behind Hilda’s ear, feels the downy soft of it and smiles even softer.

“I’m right here, Hildie.”

Hilda’s head quirks.

She reaches a hand out, touches Zelda’s cheek.

Their magic pulses together, as it always has.

Recognition.

Eyes widen ever wider.

“You? But you’re—” she pauses. Zelda winces.

Their mother had taught them not to mention a witch’s age.

Ever.

“You’re different.” Hilda recovers, tiny chin ducked out.

Zelda can see the gears turning in her little mind as she decides whether or not to be ornery.

“So are you. Don’t be rude about it.”

Hilda grins, recognizing her sister’s sass.

Zelda’s knees are really starting to hurt from being on the ground.

Then the grin wobbles and her eyes start to fill.

“Zelds, I’m scared.”

Zelda gathers her up in her arms, Hilda keeps a one-handed grip on Tom’s left ear.

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve got you, you’ll be fine. We’ll fix it.”

Both Hilda’s arms go around Zelda’s neck then, squeezing tight.

She stands, changing grip and gathering up Hilda’s now billowing dress so everything is safely ensconced in Zelda’s embrace.

“First things first. Let’s get you some clothes that fit.”

Hilda pulls back slightly, a little fist ineffectually rubbing the wet off her face.

Zelda fists the cloth a little tighter around Hilda’s back, making sure she doesn’t fall, and resists the urge to comfort those distressed cheeks.

“M’kay. This dress isn’t very proper, is it?”

Zelda chuckles; can’t resist any longer and kisses Hilda’s forehead.

“Sister, I’ve been saying that since day one.”

~*~

For once, Zelda is glad Hilda hoarded things from when Sabrina was little.

The pajamas are a little faded and smell like the satchels of lavender Hilda keeps in all their storage trunks, but they fit little Hilda perfectly.

She stands in front of the mirror, in cotton pants and a long sleeve shirt with a cat pattern, frowning hard at her reflection.

“These clothes are weird,” She remarks.

“You’re in the future, Hilda,” Zelda says distractedly, searching the trunk for more clothes.

“A lot of things are going to be weird.”

_For us both_.

She doesn’t say anything further, but her mind whirls in worry as she rummages.

Sabrina and Ambrose are downstairs right now, researching a fix.

They won’t stop till they do—probably studying deep into the night until they pass out from exhaustion. 

Ordinarily for such all-nighters, Hilda would have supplied them coffee and blankets.

The thought sobers Zelda further.

She already misses her little sister, the older one.

The one who bustles around the mortuary, whistling when inappropriate and mother-henning anyone in sight.

The one who sits by her side in the office as she files taxes and helps pick out caskets and urns.

The one she sleeps beside at night and kisses deeply and holds dearly.

That one.

She misses.

A little hand rests on hers—she’s pulled back to the present Hilda who’s looking up at her with far too much sympathy for someone so young.

“Don’t read my emotions.” Zelda says stiffly, grabbing a few more clothes before carefully closing the box, minding Hilda’s fingers that are determined to clutch at hers.

She knows Hilda is currently a child, but it doesn’t remove the prickling sensation of being seen.

“Can’t help it.”

“You’ll learn.”

Hilda frowns, and the little wrinkle in her forehead soothes the one forming on Zelda’s own brow.

“Come on, little one. Bedtime.”

“M’not tired,” Hilda says stubbornly.

Her body betrays her, mouth yawning wide.

Zelda turns down the bed, picks Hilda up, sets her down between crisp sheets.

“Mhm. No arguing with your big sister.”

Hilda is obedient, wiggling down to get comfortable. Zelda tucks blankets around her body, securing her on the rather tall bed.

She’d always known they were too high off the ground but loved watching how Hilda had to jump up to get on them.

Seeing this Hilda completely dwarfed by her comforter made Zelda a little nervous. 

“Well, goodnight.”

Zelda snaps her fingers and the lamp flickers out.

“Wait!” Hilda’s shriek is piercing.

The lights flick back on.

“Yes?”

Hilda holds her arms out, intent clear.

She needs to be held.

Zelda hadn’t forgotten how often she’d slept curled around Hilda when they were young, just hadn’t thought to take it into consideration for their current situation.

She sighs, motions Hilda to squiggle over.

Once she’s lying down, Hilda immediately flattens herself against the curve of Zelda’s stomach, a hand gripping the silk strap of her nightgown.

She doesn’t say anything, but she trembles against the much bigger form of her fully-grown sister.

Zelda sighs, presses a kiss on those sweet curls, holds Hilda close and makes a promise she hopes she can keep.

“Don’t worry, Hildie. I’ll fix this. Everything’s going to be fine.”


	2. slightly bigger problems

Zelda sleeps.

She knows she’s dreaming because it’s summertime.

Light shines hazy and soft through sugar-glass windows as rain pounds the roof.

It’s surreal and gentle and harsh all at once.

Someone is humming in the kitchen.

She takes no steps yet floats drowsily to inspect the noise.

Everything is yellow, sunshine hitting particles of dust in the air like scattering gold.

Hilda is here, back turned to Zelda, fully grown and ironing a dress, dressed only in her knickers.

The cotton is stained pink, washed out and domestic.

The tug on Zelda’s heart pulls her closer.

Dream hands go around the soft stomach, feel nothing except an inherent sense of rightness.

Zelda’s nuzzles her sister’s neck and laments the lack of smell in lucid dreaming.

“We’re not really here, are we?” She murmurs against skin she’s not really feeling.

Hilda shrugs and moves the iron up and down.

Zelda looks over her broad shoulder to see.

The fabric is a liquid memory—Hilda’s 56th birthday—pressed out and smoothing the wrinkles of bittersweet experience.

“You missed them,” She notes, kisses the pink bra strap and squeezes a little tighter.

Images of parents flash against the kitchen cabinets—smiling and laughing and living.

But only with others.

Not with family.

“Didn’t matter,” Hilda says breezily, wiping away memories with a swipe of hot iron.

“You came back for it. I had you.”

And because dreams are inconvenient, Zelda’s eyes start to flow.

“And when are you coming back to me?”

Hilda shifts in her arms, but already her face is starting to fade.

“I’m not sure how. I think you’ll have to come find me.”

~*~

Zelda wakes to a solid weight on her chest.

She nearly shoves it off, an excuse of an early day at the Academy readying itself on her lips, when she realizes the small size of it.

She looks down.

Peach-gold curls greet her.

Hilda is still asleep.

Seizing the opportunity, Zelda brings her nose to Hilda’s head and breathes in.

Lavender and shampoo, and something so distinctly Hilda.

She’s real.

Zelda misses dream-Hilda for a second, then hugs her real-life sister a little more solidly.

Hilda’s nose scrunches as hazel eyes crack open.

“What time issit?” Comes the sleepy grumble.

Zelda smiles, because it’s hard not to.

She’d forgotten—Hilda had _not_ been a morning person back then.

But she knows how to make her into one.

“Time for strawberry pancakes.”

Hilda’s scramble to sit up is ambitiously fast.

Too ambitious.

Legs akimbo, a bit like a frog, she zips up and falls right over the side of the twin bed.

Zelda sits ramrod straight, alarm firing through every nerve.

“Hilda?”

A panicked moment.

“_Owww_...”

The whine a sure sign Hilda is okay.

Zelda’s breath out is both a relieved sigh and exasperated groan.

It seems no matter the age, some things never change...

~*~

It’s barely over a decade since Sabrina was this age, and yet Zelda had already blissfully forgotten how long it takes for five-year-olds to get ready.

Hilda had refused her regular toothbrush, claiming it didn’t look like _hers_, and so Zelda spent five minutes looking for a new one.

And _another_ minute rebrushing Hilda’s teeth because her efforts, while enthusiastic, had missed most of her molars.

And then came the harrowing task of dressing.

Hilda had not liked the idea of pants, and it had taken much negotiation before she and Zelda had finally agreed upon the day’s outfit.

The pink dress was fine, the gray cardigan even more so, but the tights took some haggling, as did the Mary Janes.

Hilda wanted a puppy, because Vinegar Tom hadn’t played with her yesterday.

Zelda had held her breath, counted to ten, and made promises she had no intention of keeping once Hilda was her proper age.

All that mattered was that Hilda’s little feet were stockinged and in the correct left and right shoes.

When Hilda had refused a hairbrush, Zelda bit her tongue and tamped down her pride.

Some battles were better left lost.

~*~

Sabrina and Ambrose are yawning and clutching their coffee mugs tight when sisters come down to the kitchen.

Hilda tugs at the fabric on Zelda’s elbow when she sees the teenage witch.

“She screamed at me when I woke up yesterday,” Hilda whispers to Zelda’s bended ear.

“I just screamed in _general._ And to be fair, I was very startled,” Sabrina defends to Zelda’s lifted brow.

Zelda can understand that—but still.

Hilda’s now hiding behind her legs and that helps absolutely no one.

“Come now,” She cajoles, picking Hilda up and placing her squarely on her skirted hip. “You know Sabrina, Hildie. She took care of you yesterday.”

“Yeah, and I’m your niec—” Sabrina pauses at Zelda’s head shake.

The little girl’s mind won’t be able to comprehend what happened to her—let alone handle that Edward grew up and had a baby and _died,_ leaving the baby in her and Zelda’s care.

Hopefully Hilda won’t stay like this for long and they won’t need to explain.

“I’m your nice neighbor.” Sabrina says, trying to cover the confusion up.

Thank Satan Hilda had never been a skeptical child.

“Okay. Hi Sabrina.” She waves a hand in her direction.

Zelda keeps Hilda on her hip as she moves to the coffee machine.

She already needs a double shot of espresso.

Or a triple.

“Any luck finding a reversing spell?” Zelda asks as the machine whirs to life.

Hilda watches; completely transfixed.

Sabrina’s sigh is deep and disgruntled.

“Not a thing.”

“We’re thinking maybe there’s a potion.” Ambrose pipes up from his slumped position at the table.

“If only Hilda were here,” Sabrina laments. “She would know what potion would help. Maybe her memories are still there, just dormant? I could try—”

“_Don’t_.” Zelda’s voice is sharp. “She won’t know. Asking her is useless.”

Hilda’s gaze whips from the coffee machine to Zelda’s face, eyes highly alarmed and lips ready to wobble.

“I’m useless?”

“No, sweetheart.” Zelda’s quick to hush and soothe, kissing her cheek twice for good measure. “I wasn’t talking about you. You’re as good as perfect.”

She kisses Hilda’s face until the girl is full on giggling, then sets her up on a little stool so she can peer over the counter.

“You’re going to help me make pancake batter.”

Hilda nods seriously, grasping tight the spoon Zelda hands her.

Zelda isn’t even aware she’s smiling until she looks up and sees how Sabrina and Ambrose are smirking at her.

“Not a word of this to anyone.” She warns them.

They just grin and say nothing.

“I mean it,” She menaces.

Hilda hands her a measuring cup and she takes it without a second thought.

It’s the wrong one.

She sees how Ambrose is trying to suppress his laugh.

“Oh, shut up.”

~*~

She leaves for a half second to call the Academy.

Makes sure everything’s settled with Professor Artie Rookwell for the next few days, avoids his questions as to why.

When she comes back, she sees Sabrina and Ambrose are lending their helping hands.

She’s glad, she doesn’t want Hilda near the stove.

And then her eyes are catching on her little sister, going wild once she finds her.

Hilda’s teetering on her step stool, a ripe strawberry in one tiny hand—a very real, very sharp knife in the other.

“I don’t _think_ so, young lady!” She scolds, marching to Hilda’s side, pulling it smartly from her grasp.

Hilda’s pout is all puppy.

Sabrina and Ambrose are surprised and sheepish.

Zelda’s eyes go heavenward.

They’ll be the death of her, if she doesn’t kill them all first.

“Honestly, I can’t leave _any _of you alone for five seconds.”

~*~

The rest of cooking goes with only slight hitches—Hilda’s undeniably cute but prone to distraction and what was supposed to be breakfast inevitably winds up as lunch—but if there are a few burnt patches on the pancakes, no one’s complaining.

Ambrose excuses himself afterwards for more research, Sabrina leaves for whatever answers the Academy library can offer her.

Zelda settles Hilda down on the parlor couch for a mid-afternoon nap.

When Hilda’s eyes flutter shut, Zelda deems it safe enough to finally get some work done.

She’s only halfway down the hallway when she hears the pitter patter of tiny feet.

She turns to Hilda’s unrepentant face.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Where you going?”

“I have to do some grown up things. Go back to bed.”

She takes a step.

So does Hilda.

Her glare does nothing to deter Hilda’s cheeky little grin.

“Go to sleep.”

Hilda’s nose wrinkles.

“In the hallway?”

She’s being obtuse on purpose.

“You know I meant in the parlor.”

When Hilda pauses, Zelda turns.

She schools her smile at hearing Hilda follow after her.

It’s best not to let the little imp know she’s amusing, else she’ll never follow orders.

“You’re really not going to nap?”

Hilda shakes her head emphatically.

“Not tired.”

“Fine. Keep up then.”

She goes down in the basement instead of the office, ignores her Hilda-shadow as she takes inventory of the morgue.

They are all very lucky business is slow right now.

When she goes back up to her office, feet tapping after her all the while, she finally hears that telltale yawn.

Zelda quells the victorious grin, instead just pats her lap as she sits down.

Without any further encouragement, Hilda clambers up and lets her big sister cradle her close.

She’s snoozing within minutes.

Zelda’s arm starts cramping not long after. 

She can’t find it in herself to mind one bit.

~*~

She can’t remember what she was doing.

It had been a quiet time of filing papers and desk work as Hilda slept against her shoulder, but then an envelope of cream paper had slipped into view.

Her wedding invitation. 

She’d frozen, memories had flashed, and suddenly she’s back in the office and a half hour had passed.

She hadn’t realized any of it.

Breath goes heavy, chest goes tight.

Her ribs are trapped and the room is shrinking and she’s so angry—she’d done so well not to panic in such a long time—

Hilda smacks her lips as she wakes, pulling away from Zelda to stretch her arms.

“Hi,” She murmurs, a hand going up to rub at her eyes. “I fell asleep.”

Zelda manages a weak smile. It falls limp as she takes another deep, steadying breath.

Hilda frowns.

“You feel... a lot.” She says.

Zelda laughs because it’s so opposite—she’s so numb it’s almost terrifying.

“Yes.” Is all she manages to say.

Hilda goes close, roots her nose against Zelda’s neck, snuggling deeper into her sister’s form.

“Why?”

Perhaps it’s to comfort or simply because she’s cold, but she stays still and her steady little heartbeat gives Zelda something to focus on.

She wants to lie, she’s not about to burden a five-year-old, but Hilda’s breath is puffing against her neck and her fingers are clutching Zelda’s arms to console, and reality already feels too fragmented.

She settles on a half-truth.

“A while ago, I thought I married a prince. Turns out he was a very bad frog.”

Hilda’s sweet little squeeze makes Zelda’s eyes sting.

“M’sorry, Zelds.”

The moment holds.

“You said you were going to marry _me _though.”

The outrageous thought makes Zelda laugh, makes Hilda pull back with a pout.

“You _did_. When we were playing happy families. Don’t you remember?”

Her hair is a frizz, smushed flat on one side from her nap against her sister.

Zelda cards a hand through it, fixing that feathery soft.

“It’s been a long time, darling. I’m sorry.”

Hilda shrugs a shoulder.

“S’okay, there’s always next year.”

Zelda can’t help her chuckle.

Oh, the logic of little ones.

Hilda leans forward, presses a kiss to Zelda’s surprised cheek.

“Don’t be sad, Zelds. You’re still a princess.”

Her absolute conviction twists and warms deep in Zelda’s chest.

“You think so?”

“Know so. You’re as good as perfect.”

~*~

The rest of the day, the sisters spend together.

Hilda follows Zelda around as she works, sometimes helping with easy tasks, sometimes just hovering in the background.

Sometimes she wanders.

Zelda’s had to steer her away from the solarium no less than four times (because pretty flowers tempt children, but are also deadly enough to kill them) before just locking it up.

Hilda had not appreciated that.

For once it’s fortunate she is easily distracted.

They play gin rummy, which Hilda is not good at, and go fish, which no one is good at, then war.

When Hilda starts throwing cards at Zelda, she can’t help but retaliate, and the real war of cards ensues.

It’s quite silly and Zelda cannot mind whatsoever.

Hilda’s attempting to wheedle Zelda into going outside with her even though it’s raining and dark out when the front door bangs open, and several pairs of feet clop through to the parlor.

“Don’t be mad Aunt Zee,” Sabrina starts, which is quite a terrible way to start anything, and then the weird sisters are piling behind her, Salem following after and weaving around their legs.

“Is _that _Hilda?” Agatha gasps, glee lilting on her tone.

“I believe it is.” Prudence is also gleeful, though her tone is decidedly different.

“Oh, she’s adorable.” Dorcas says.

Zelda’s hackles rise.

“Sabrina,” She pulls Sabrina closer, whisper-hissing, “What did I explicitly tell you?”

“Not to tell anyone, I know, but I had to, Aunt Zee.” Sabrina justifies, pulling a thick tome out of her shoulder bag.

“I found a spell that might fix things, but it needs more combined magic than you, me, and Ambrose have.”

“You’ve brought _children_.”

“They’re powerful together. And I didn’t think you wanted the other teachers finding out.”

Zelda drops Sabrina’s arm, her sigh emanating deep and unhappy.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the best one I’ve found so far.” Sabrina nods her head in Hilda’s direction. “She can’t stay like this forever.”

Zelda watches her sister.

Salem has wandered to Hilda’s side in friendly greeting and is now subject to her grip on his fur.

She’s glaring at the weird sisters for no discernible reason other than Prudence is glaring right back.

Protection and affection swell fierce. Zelda isn’t sure anymore.

Quietly, and only to herself internal, she admits it.

She likes taking care of Hilda like this.

She’s small and clingy and happy.

It’s so clear her sister needs her.

Dream-Hilda flashes in her mind then, iron in hand, patience in her gaze.

No. Zelda can’t cling to the past, even if it’s simpler and less likely to leave.

Hilda wouldn’t want this.

She has to find her sister again.

Zelda clears her throat.

“Tell me your plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gave y'all a heart attack last chapter - sorry bout that.  
i definitely wasn't going to let it end there!   
i'm too obsessed with smol hilda to let that happen ;p


	3. a big problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all - i'm not dead!! sorry it's taken forever and a half to finish this, school is a doozy.  
but here it is!

Midnight. The witching hour.

Candle wax lies freshly cooled on the dark wood floor, a pentagram thick and blood red.

Hilda stands in the middle of it and looks unconcerned, her lavender pajamas a sharp juxtaposition to the somber atmosphere.

The four young witches finish placing their casting ingredients in a circle around her. Nonplussed, Hilda ignores them as she yawns and looks up to a fretting Zelda.

“Can I go back to bed soon?” She blinks slowly, unsure as to what is happening around her, yet her trustful gaze never wavers.

Zelda wants to call the whole thing off.

“In just a minute.” Ambrose answers, places a hand on Zelda’s shoulder before crouching down to be at Hilda’s eye level. “First, we all need to do a little chanting, okay?”

“Like Black Mass?” Another slow blink and a head tilt.

“Sure.”

Ambrose straightens up, smiling at Zelda but there’s guilt and uncertainty behind it.

“I don’t like this,” she states, her body practically shaking with the urge to snatch Hilda up and run. “Not one bit.”

“We have to try, Auntie Zee,” Sabrina calls from her kneeled position on the floor, strategically placing down raven feathers. “Don’t you want Aunt Hilda back?”

“Well of course I do.” Tension in one terse snap. “But this spell is old, the original meaning vague. It might not work, or it might do something even worse.”

“High Priestess,” Prudence says, eyebrow raised in faux-shocked challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re _afraid_. Or do you simply like Hilda like this? Innocent and helpless.”

“I’m not helpless.” Hilda mutters, sticking her tongue out at the teenager.

Prudence ignores her.

Zelda quietly seethes.

“Fine.” She says through gritted teeth.

“But if anything happens that I don’t like—if Hilda so much as _sneezes_—we’re done. Understood?”

“Understood.”

All stand, circling Hilda and holding hands. They take three steps clockwise, two steps counter. Never ceasing their pace as they chant, “Converterent alica. Invenies annos. Mutata in corpore. Tunc reverterentur.”

They chant once. Twice. A third time, never stopping their steps forward and back.

Hilda just rubs her eye with one drowsy fist.

“This is kinda spooky.”

Nothing is happening.

Zelda’s heart doesn’t know whether to leap or sigh.

But then, “Hey, my hand looks funny. Like an old lady hand.”

Zelda peers closer, making sure to never miss a beat in their spell.

Hilda’s hand is indeed changing.

The youthful plump is winnowing out, never shifting in length, but the tautness of the skin grows tighter, veins more visible.

Zelda’s nearly hopeful, but mostly worried.

And then, Hilda makes an unhappy noise. Holds up her arm.

Her hand is the only thing changing, but it’s growing bony and liver-spotted and the knuckles are swelling arthritic.

“Zelds, I don’t like it.”

She’s barely able to whimper before Zelda severs the magic and breaks the circle. Scrapes her knees on the waxy floor as she kneels to clutch her sister’s body to her own, scooping her up and holding her tight.

Hilda’s face is mashed against her neck and shows no sign of emerging, her whole being tense and upset.

“That hurt,” she whispers against Zelda, tears starting to fall hot and uncomfortable on bare skin.

“You should have said so sooner,” Zelda scolds, worry straining in her voice, but harshness lost as she rubs soothing patterns on Hilda’s back.

“Didn’t want to. My hand looked funny.”

The sigh that emanates from Zelda’s whole form is relief and exasperation, but mostly relief.

And then she feels eyes on her and her sister. Remembers her audience.

“We’re done. You can leave now.” She says to the Weird Sisters, the look in her eye showing this is the most thanks they’ll get.

Dorcas gives meek apology, but Agatha just looks at Sabrina, waiting for her cue.

When Zelda turns, Sabrina only looks cajoling.

“We can’t call it quits now, Auntie Zee. Almost nothing works on the first try. Maybe if we did it again—”

“We’re done.”

“But Auntie—”

“I said what I said.”

A sigh, but then Sabrina nods her head.

Ambrose starts to clean up the mess of ingredients on the ground as Sabrina leads the Weird Sisters out.

A second to breathe, then Zelda’s entirely focused on the exhausted girl in her arms.

“Alright little one, I think it’s high time you went back to sleep.”

~*~

“How’s your hand?” She asks, tucking the blankets around Hilda just a little tighter.

Hilda holds her hand in front of her face, staring at it quizzically for a moment before replying, “It looks alright now.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes.”

Zelda dims the light, turning to leave and clean up the mess made downstairs.

“Zelds.”

Hilda’s got her arms out and reaching.

Needing.

It doesn’t take long before Zelda’s crawling into the bed, cocooning her little sister in comforting arms.

“Thanks for saving me,” Hilda says, something a bit like awe in her voice.

“It’s what big sisters do.”

A giggle, then— “So what do we do now?”

“We close our eyes.”

Zelda cards her fingers through honeycomb curls, soothing her sister into deep slumber.

It’s only when Hilda finally falls asleep that Zelda answers, truthfully into the dark room.

“I don’t know.”

~*~

Morning comes without dreams, sunlight soft but insistent against Zelda’s eyelids.

Hilda is still snoozing, little puffs of breath tickling on Zelda’s face.

It reminds her of past Saturday mornings when she and Hilda would wake up late, heads on different pillows but faces towards the other. Lips still ravaged and grinning, meeting gently to greet the day and each other.

That was the past.

It was only last week.

Today’s Zelda simply sighs, holds her sleeping little sister tight, and misses Hilda more than ever.

~*~

She’s on her second cup of coffee and thinking about potions when Hilda plods into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and grumpy as she climbs up to sit beside her big sister.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” she accuses.

“You were snoring,” Zelda says from around her mug.

Hilda’s scowl scrunches her entire face.

“I do _not _snore.”

“You were asleep. You don’t know.”

She’s only gently teasing, but Hilda crumples as though under her strongest derision.

“You don’t like me anymore.”

The wail has Zelda stricken.

“Of course I do, little one.”

She reaches for Hilda, holding her close to her side. Hilda lets her, but doesn’t tuck in as eagerly as she once had.

When a light jostling does nothing to rouse her from her sulk, Zelda lifts Hilda’s chin, thumb pressed to that trembling baby lip.

“Whatever made you think that?”

Hilda’s blink so earnest and sad.

“You don’t want me, you want older Hilda. I can feel it, can’t help it. I’m not her.”

Zelda sighs, unable to answer with her heart so thoroughly lodged in her throat. She clears it, then clears the table, letting go of Hilda’s face to put her coffee mug in the sink.

When she finally turns to Hilda, there’s a counter and a towel clenched in her fist between them.

“Do you want to be?”

Hilda’s head shake is surprisingly fierce.

“I don’t even know who that is.”

Zelda’s smile is tired and wistful.

“Well I can help with that.”

She reaches out her hand.

Praises Lilith when Hilda runs to take it.

~*~

They go to the parlor for the family albums.

It doesn’t go as Zelda had hoped.

She tells the stories she thinks Hilda will like most.

Moments Zelda had loved Hilda most.

Hilda just twists her lips and doesn’t say a word.

~*~

Hilda seems to forget it as the day goes on.

She grins at Zelda again for no reason other than to grin at her, she laughs at Ambrose’s jokes, and she wheedles Sabrina into playing hide and seek with her.

Sabrina, for her part, is contrite and eager to get back in both the sisters’ favors.

It’s easier to get Hilda’s forgiveness for hurting Hilda than it is to get Zelda’s.

~*~

At night, Hilda’s frown returns.

She pulls at the bedsheets, wriggles to get comfortable.

Isn’t satisfied with any position, so she tries them all.

Drives Zelda mad.

It takes a deep inhale and “Hildegard, _please_” to make her settle.

Her foot still keeps a rhythm.

~*~

Zelda’s dreams that night are bad, and tainted by Hilda emotion.

~*~

When it’s morning again, she stays where she is and waits for Hilda to wake, eyes staring at ceiling and really seeing nothing.

She’s seeing lazy morning memory, feeling warm thigh memory, and desperately trying to think of no memory at all so Hilda won’t sense it and wake up bawling.

Hilda wakes anyway, eyes scrunched from the daylight.

When she sits up, carefully minding the bed’s edge, her eyes hold a decision Zelda can’t quite decipher.

“Let’s do it,” she says, head bobbing in agreement to her own words. “Let’s bring old Hilda back.”

~*~

They’re in the office after breakfast, Hilda perched on Zelda’s lap, both perusing a tome of notions and potions and vague instruction.

It’s hard to turn pages, as Hilda can’t read the text and quickly grows bored, chin falling with a thunk onto the dusty pages.

When it’s time to turn, a pat on her head has her rising up and turning the page with chubby fingers.

The paper nearly rips every time.

It takes three pages till Zelda gently shoves her off to play Cat’s Cradle with her spiders.

In the quiet, Zelda reads ferociously.

It’s not the idle skimming of newspapers, nor the zealous contemplation of the satanic verse, it is something else both impatient and thorough.

It is a parent and older sibling’s understanding.

She won’t have much time to read.

Hilda never did much like to play by herself.

And it still holds true, as the edge of her peripheral catches Hilda peeking her head in through the door.

“Zelds, you busy?”

She bites back a sigh.

“Very.”

“Okay, but I brought you something.”

Hilda is very loud in her effort to silently tiptoe her way to the desk.

A half-snapped sprig of lavender is placed on the stained wood.

Zelda only gives it a glance.

Then another.

“Hilda, is this from the solarium?”

“Um...”

“The sun room, which you were _not_ to go in?”

She snaps her fingers as Hilda rushes out, magic closing the solarium doors and locking out any further would-be intruders.

Then she goes back to reading.

There’s a potion of memory, of bone growth, of forgetfulness, of strength.

Her eyes complain their lack of sleep. She bemoans the fact such spell books don’t come with indexes.

Little feet come stomping back in.

This time much slower, much louder, more confident.

Hilda huffs and puffs, Vinegar Tom’s stiff body clutched tight in her straining arms.

“Brought you a reading buddy.”

“You’re going to choke him like that.”

“Oh he doesn’t mind.”

She puts him right by Zelda’s chair, pats his nose, pats Zelda’s leg, and then she’s off again.

Zelda wishes she’d just bring coffee next time.

There’s a potion of foresight, a potion of mind fog, a potion of amicability, a potion of silence.

The shoes are back again.

This time Hilda hasn’t brought anything with her, is just looking very intently at the side of Zelda’s face.

Zelda doesn’t hold her sigh back this time.

“What is it, Hilda?”

“Come play with me.”

“You’re the one who asked for this.”

“Please?”

She catches those pleading eyes.

A huge miscalculation.

Another sigh.

“The things I do for you.”

~*~

The sun is out, deceiving warmth against the chill air, the big blue barely scattered with clouds.

Zelda sits perched on a lumpy blanket, craving a cigarette something fierce.

Hilda is a few feet away, squatting down in the grass as she inspects a bug or some such creature, hands reaching out in attempt to capture it.

A decade ago, Zelda had been sitting in a similar situation. Sabrina had been trying to catch the bug. Hilda had been right there with her.

Sabrina currently is at the Academy, trying new books and promising to text if any of the teachers are acting up.

Zelda might be forced out on sibling-caused sabbatical, but she won’t be uninformed about the going’s on of her coven.

She’s about to check her phone for notifications when Hilda scampers on back, something small clamped between thumb and index finger.

“Caught it for you.”

Zelda inspects.

A snail wiggles in its shell.

“Put it back.”

“You’re no fun.”

~*~

Hilda’s wistful stare to the woods is strange and out of character.

“Wouldn’t it look good in orange?”

The trees are already red, changed from the colding weather.

Zelda frowns and says it’s time to go back inside.

~*~

Zelda is so distracted by Hilda’s antics and Ambrose’ and Sabrina’s return that she cannot go back to her potion book.

She goes to bed tired, but not frustrated.

The dreams are worse and play like memories.

~*~

And so it goes.

She reads till Hilda gets bored.

She frets about leaving her coven unguided for so long till Hilda captures her attention again.

She sleeps terribly.

Dreams of hands in dirt, digging in and clawing out.

Panic to find something, anything other than earth.

There’s no knowing if she’s descending or ascending.

There’s no knowing if these are her dreams or Hilda’s.

~*~

She’s on her fifth book and last wit when Zelda finally finds the potion she needs.

It’s better than caffeine or nicotine rush, this rushing hope.

Calling Ambrose and Sabrina and Hilda to the kitchen, she shares her good news.

All that’s needed now are the ingredients, and then they’ll have their old Hilda back.

Ambrose cheers, picks up Hilda and spins her around in his joy.

Sabrina claps and rushes to Zelda’s side, already babbling about things they could probably find in their own garden or the forest.

In their haste out the door, they don’t notice, can’t tell.

Zelda holds Hilda on her hip as they walk to the forest, relief emanating in waves.

She doesn’t see it.

There’s a storm coming.

~*~

“Are you excited?” Zelda hears Sabrina ask as they search for a certain kind of mushroom.

“Mmhmm.” Comes Hilda’s reply.

It’s rather lackluster.

“Scared?”

“No.”

Hilda emphasizes with a kick to a small log, intently studying the freshly turned side.

Even from Zelda’s distant vantage point, the action is decidedly glum.

Hilda’s more sulking than searching.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Sabrina soothes.

“I’m _not_.”

“When I had to sign my name in the book, _I_ was scared because so much was going to change. But I found I had unlocked a whole new side of me, and that was worth discovering. Maybe you’ll find that too.”

“I’m _not_ scared! I don’t wanna find anything, I don’t wanna grow, I just wanna go home!”

Zelda stops cold at that.

Sabrina catches it, catches Hilda’s hand, pulls her closer as she squirms.

“What are you saying, Hilda? You don’t want to grow up? I thought you told Aunt—I thought you told Zelda you wanted to.”

Hilda squirms harder till Sabrina lets her go.

“I just wanted her to stop being mad at me.”

“I was never mad at you.” Zelda can’t help but interject, walking towards the younger Spellmans.

Hilda’s eyes go wide.

“Why didn’t you just say so, instead of making us spend all this effort searching for a cure?” Zelda asks, a hand pinching the bridge of her nose, desperately trying to hold a headache and rising feelings at bay.

She’s lost a chance for Hilda to come back, and she’s wasted so much time.

Tired mixing with disappointment, it’s hard to hold back.

“You were happier.”

Patience snaps.

“Don’t be stupid, I would have been happier knowing the truth.”

“I’m not stupid. _You’re_ stupid.”

The headache throbs.

“Don’t be childish, Hildegard.” Zelda bites. “Let’s just go back to the house.”

She reaches for her.

Hilda rears back.

“No! You don’t want me, you want some other me. Well I don’t want her, and I don’t want _you_ either.”

And then she’s running off, going deeper into the forest.

~*~

“Should I...?”

“No. Go back to the house Sabrina. Tell Ambrose it’s off. I’ll go find my melodramatic sister.”

~*~

It’s not the first time Hilda’s run off.

She used to do that back then, when they were both young.

After a row she’d go off to pout or lick her wounds, and Zelda would be left alone till she found her sister and begged and cajoled to be forgiven.

Every time, Hilda gained the knowledge that it was easy to forgive.

And every time, Zelda gained the knowledge that it was easy to be left.

It took a much more severe lesson from Zelda to break Hilda’s habit.

And it seems they never learned a thing.

~*~

When she finds Hilda again, the little girl is sitting against a tree, hands clenched under her thighs, eyes glaring holes into her knees.

Salt tracks have dried on her cheeks, little echoes of very real distress.

Zelda’s frustration softens, exasperation melting to sisterly concern. She knocks on the tree’s trunk and tries to keep the sardonic from her tone.

“Are you quite done?”

Hilda shrugs, but doesn’t protest as Zelda gingerly sits beside her on the forest floor.

“Now, little one, is the world quite so terrible?”

“Yes.” Hilda sniffles, absolute conviction in her words. “It _is_. You don’t want me.”

“Oh Hildie...” Zelda scolds gently. “That has never been true, and quite frankly I resent the accusation.”

“You miss the other me, I feel it all the time. Don’t say it’s not true because it is.”

Even as she says it and Zelda starts to deny, the heart pangs in pitiful longing.

She pauses a moment, staring up through the leaves to peek at the darkening sky.

“Feelings aren’t the whole truth. I miss my sister, yes. I miss what we had. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you still. It’s different, but similar.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Zelda puts her hand on the ground, palm up. “You’re my sister. I’ll always want you by my side.”

“Oh.”

And then Hilda’s hand is placed on hers, and her head rests against Zelda’s shoulder as they clasp together.

“I’m sorry I ran away.” Hilda sighs, rooting deeper to Zelda’s side.

For the first time since Hilda changed, Zelda is completely, wholeheartedly honest.

“Please stop leaving me. I can’t bear it any longer.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Zelda pulses magic through her fingers, making Hilda giggle and jump at the sensation.

Hilda sends her magic too, sending a pleasant buzz through every nerve in Zelda’s arm.

It’s a contract of silly design, sister magic that promises nothing, only exists and twists together in connection.

They let it hold, because it just feels nice, but then the bond goes deep, pulling from the chest.

It’s surprise without alarm as Zelda feels the magic cascading, tugging from every vertebrae, yanking from the very depths of her soul.

It's a calling to return.

Hilda can feel it too, but she doesn’t look scared the way she had when Sabrina and the Weird Sisters were chanting for her to change.

She knows she is, and she doesn’t mind.

She mouths a _thank you_ to her sister, her protector and best friend, and then she begins to grow.

~*~

It’s slow at first, though it doesn’t take much time.

Zelda holds her sister’s hand and watches. Hears clothing ripped as the body shifts. Feels the fingers lengthening in her grasp, growing solid in its weight.

She watches Hilda’s face, sees the cheeks filling out and the chin growing softer.

She watches fine lines dance at the corners of Hilda’s eyelids, closed and absent of blue eyeshadow. She sees the fluttering eyelashes, long and blond, and then Hilda is opening to her.

She knows the rest of Hilda is grown too, but she can’t tear herself from that hazel gaze.

Like in dreams and memories and sheer relief, she feels her own eyes start to fill.

“Welcome back.”

~*~

Kissing Hilda is always a revelation.

Tonight it’s like coming home.

Hilda is so warm and full and _real_ in her arms.

She’s here and she’s missed Zelda too.

“It felt like a very hazy dream for most of it, just me trying to get to you.”

For that, she is kissed again.

Kissed absolutely senseless. 

~*~

“I suppose we should head back. Sabrina will be worried, but so very glad to see you again.”

“Alright. But Zelds?”

“Mm?”

“I’m not wearing any clothes.”

“... I’m sure something can be arranged.”

~*~

They’re still in the grass, ambling their way home and giddy on return, when Zelda remembers.

She bumps her thigh gently against Hilda’s, feels the solid heat there through her skirt.

It’s a rush and a comfort and a thrill all at once.

“_Hildegard_.”

“_Zelda_.”

“What are your theories on why the bees are dying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your patience and sweet comments you've left me, it's kept me fed!


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